


Not Just Fear

by RigorMorton



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anonymous Author - Freeform, Cliffhangers, Cunnilingus, Demon/Human Relationships, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Ficlet, Ghost Written, Manhandling, Monster/Human Relationship, Not my fic, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Scary Clowns, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RigorMorton/pseuds/RigorMorton
Summary: (This story was not written by me. It was submitted by an anonymous source)You watch him crawl forward, aware of drool gathering at the edge of his lower lip. You're already pressed as far back as you can go - the wall is cool against your hot skin; inflamed with adrenaline after this stranger appeared in your room. You refuse to appear as terrified as you feel, but even with unwavering eye contact and a chin held high with indignation, you feel the familiar flutter of terror at incoming close contact.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was submitted to me by a friend on Tumblr who wishes to remain anonymous. It's so well written that I had to share. Enjoy.

"There's always something," The clown growls with a smile, "You're all afraid of something." 

You sit facing him, uncomfortable on the hard floor and pressed against the wall, trapped. He looms impossibly tall in the darkness, eyes twinkling. His movements are alarmingly quick; erratic, like a predator strike. He swoops down suddenly and crouches on all fours so that you can see eye to eye. There's a feral grin on his painted mouth; this is all just a game. 

You watch him crawl forward, aware of drool gathering at the edge of his lower lip. You're already pressed as far back as you can go - the wall is cool against your hot skin; inflamed with adrenaline after this stranger appeared in your room. You refuse to appear as terrified as you feel, but even with unwavering eye contact and a chin held high with indignation, you feel the familiar flutter of terror at incoming close contact. 

A dirty, gloved hand hovers a hairs breath away from your face and instinctively you flinch and turn away. "There it is," he coos, his palm drifting to your turned cheek, "There it is..." There it was indeed. He'd found it. The thing you dreaded above all else. Touch. 

You sit quivering for a moment; eyes screwed and jaw clenched. Sweat breaks across your forehead. His palm hangs by your ear, the long fingers twitching at your neck and you sense the shiver of a single hair catch on the fabric of his gloves. It makes goosebumps rise despite the heat.

Every nerve is shaking with the effort of keeping perfectly still - desperate to keep the sliver of a physical boundary left between you. He seems to enjoy this tease - the threat of touching you without actually following through. 

You chance a look at him from underneath your eyelashes and swallow hard when you see he's staring back - studying every twitch and judder with intense interest. His shoulders scrunch with a giggle of delight when your gazes meet; it's almost comical. 

Hes unnerving in such an obtuse way, you cant help but be mesmerised - like slowling down to drive past a grizzly accident. Every survival instinct, every shred of your humanity, cries out that this is something unnatural - and something to run from. But the fear he radiates... It's coupled with a strange allure; a charisma that pulses from him in a dark rhythm... it freezes your blood to ice just as it sets your skin ablaze. You are stuck still under his scrutising gaze. 

Without warning, he suddenly leaps with a growl and fists his hand, yanking your hair. You're pushed sideways and flat onto your back; crying out at the impact when your head meets the floor.

The clown hovers over you and rasps the knuckles of his glove against your cheekbone, cackling. You immediately try to curl into a ball and bring your arms up to cover your face but his quick grip is like lead and he fastens you to the floor. He shushes you like a baby, one arm raised to ironically mock-stroke your hair for comfort and you can't help but resort to desperately shrieking at such an intimate act. 

His manic smile cracks with unbridled glee. For all your want to appear unfazed, this hysterical reaction seems to be exactly what he wanted. You stop still, trapped beneath his weight, panting with adrenaline. Both his hands on your face now - tight and clawing, like a vice. You squirm beneath his palms, your skin recoiling at this boorish disregard for a lifetime of keeping your distance, but it's feeble, and he looks at you like a child with a favourite toy - his eyebrows high and his face alight with joy- tightening his grip until you feel your eyes might bulge. 

The clown stares unblinkingly at you, then erratically rushes forward, mouth wide open - all teeth and growling - pushing his face to yours until he's all that you can see. Your frantic heart pounds, you desperately try to turn your head away but he's so strong. Impossibly strong. His yellow eyes blaze. And then suddenly he inhales - almost in surprise - nostrils flaring as if the room were filled with a sweet perfume.

 

You gulp hard when he looks back at you, his breath deep and ragged, eyes darkened with dilated pupils, suddenly serious. He stares for a beat with mouth agape. 

"So sweet." He utters again, almost to himself, "And new. Is this all it takes?" He presses his face close again - those quick and erratic movements making your heart stammer behind it's ribcage - and jerks one hand away to grip hard on your arm. 

You instinctively convulse underneath him at the new contact, desperately wanting to cry out but not daring with his face so close to yours. 

He gives a childlike laugh of disbelief, and when he speaks you feel the hot breath on your skin; "Bang for your buck, kiddo. Effortless. What sort of treats am I going to get for an extra dime?" 

You feel his nose press at your jawline as he takes another drag of whatever it is he can smell - this time, directly from the skin at your neck. He gives a guttural shudder of pleasure into your hair. You feel an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation hang awkwardly, and then something warm and wet slides against you, following the path of your jugular vein. Some deep and dark limit once held tight inside you finally snaps, and you unleash a roar of primal fear when realisation dawns - seeing the clown's tongue slide gently back between his lips. At this, he positively awakens with a new vigour, and those yellow eyes shine bright with wonderment. 

He pulls back to study you again, this time his smile is cat-like and dangerous. "If they were all like you I could feast all night. What a banquet," He muses, shaking his head, "Salted meat. So simple." He giggles - almost beside himself with demented joy - but you can't bring yourself to ask what he's referring to. The words rattle in your hollow ears, your clenched jaw tight beneath his grip. It takes every last bit of your courage to meet his gaze when he leans back down. "What is this?" He asks directly, " You're not just afraid. You're... Something else." 

Without waiting for a response, the clown then proceeds to look for an answer himself. He pulls off one glove with his teeth, holding your eye as each finger is withdrawn. Now bare, he snakes one hand inside your shirt, fingers creeping against the skin on your stomach as if he were mimicking a spider. It tickles, and you tighten, anticipating the familiar response of crippling nausea and abject terror... But it doesn't come. This stranger has beset your long-held defences with such a quick torrent of unapologetic physical contact it feels as if those carefully laid invisible walls have now come crashing down. Left with a subconscious now exhausted, senses overstimulated after years of neglect, you feel nothing but the simple sensation of a warm hand and rasping nails against your skin. 

The clown leans into you and takes a deep inhale again. Whatever he ingests causes a deep rumble of pleasure to escape him. He frantically clutches both of your shoulders - one hand still ungloved - and buries his face deeper into your neck. You feel that tongue again, it slides underneath your jawline, and a fresh wave of heat prickles your skin.

He nips at your cheekbone, breath rattling with a sense of barely held control. Finally he turns his face into yours; those yellow eyes are blazing almost white in the dark. 

" What is this?" His voice is slow, a lower pitch than before, and it rumbles against your skin. "What are you doing? You aren't afraid. Not just afraid."


	2. Chapter 2

You want to reply, but the words are caught in your chest; crushed by his frame. A small voice in the back of your head warns against the sanity of an answer.

The clown regards you with the air of a scientist questioning a lab rat. You are an unexpected result - further testing is required.

With another of those strange, inhuman jerks of movement, he suddenly scurries away from your face, down your body, and his nose grazes the patch of stomach where his hand had just been previously.

"Its here," he grins to himself, voice sing-song and light. Your abdomen shakily rises and falls under his breath. 

He pauses for a few beats - inhaling long and deep, and he seems to soften ever so slightly with each one. The sharp giggles that punctuate his speech give way to more slow, languid sighs of pleasure. 

You're still quivering with the effort of keeping statue-still beneath him, but you chance a look down from sheer curiosity. His eyes are fluttering closed with each breath, his mouth relaxed. Spit pools on his open lip; you feel it spatter on your belly.

His eyes snap open suddenly - raw and yellow. "Not here," He declares with a pout, nose wrinkled at the bridge, "Not here. Somewhere else."

Like a hound on a new hunt, he then trails down your abdomen. You feel him nick your skin with his teeth. 

"Its hidden, but I'll find it," He whispers to himself with an edge of excitement. He glances up at you, eyes burning, "I always do."

You give a whimper of disbelief as his long fingers hook themselves over the waistband of your jeans and simply pull. The supernatural strength is obvious, and even fastened, the denim has no choice but to drag painfully over your hips. The sound of ripping fabric pops in the otherwise silent room. The clown's expression is unmistakable - this is some kind of new game for him, and he's enjoying it with unapologetic relish.

Adrenaline floods your system again. You haven't been this exposed to anyone for such a long time; and this is such an extreme level of vulnerability, you'd always told yourself you'd never experience anything of the sort. A phobia long held since childhood, now not only shattered, but decimated. It was overwhelming. And yet... He was right. This wasn't just fear. Something else; something unknown to you both. 

His nostrils flare, catching something in the air. He sits upright - you lose his face in the darkness - but those eyes catch a light and flicker. His grin spreads.

"Ohhhhh," he sighs, inhaling deeply, "So much of you on the wind. So much of you right here."

You can't help it. Those white shards of pupils don't move from your face, and you can see his chest steadily rising and falling with a light growl. He's terrifying. While you've still got some semblance of control, the thought crosses your mind to escape. You start wriggling backwards, jeans still caught about your knees. 

There's feral flash of teeth, and then he leaps again. 

Your head hits the wall you'd forgotten was behind you, and you gasp in pain.

"It's here it's here it's here," the clown is frantically repeating to himself in a frenzy, as if singing a nursery rhyme. He gives a maniacal laugh of victory, and then buries his head into one of your exposed thighs. The sound that reverberates up your leg as he exhales sounds like thunder rolling. It makes your head tilt back, your neck arch. Something primal strikes your core, and you hear yourself mewl. 

This only seems to encourage him. He moves further, pressing his face between your legs. His breath is hot.

"How have I fed for an eon... without... this..." He snarls into your skin.

You continue to crawl backwards, half sitting yourself upright against the wall in mindless panic. Whatever it is that's been awoken between the two of you has grown so fast in the last few moments, its suffocating. 

The room seems so small, and he is so big. Shadows unnaturally stretch from him and climb your walls like spirits, all of them looking down on you both. 

The darkness is an unnatural black, but you seem to sit in your own projected spotlight. You know you need to get away before it spins further out of control and as you squirm, the clown follows without any effort - oblivious or otherwise unconcerned with your alarm, and his face buries itself deeper between your thighs.

The pressure of his nose buried so far is creating a new, numb heat rise in your fingertips. It feels wrong... horribly wrong 

And yet. 

You tell yourself youre trapped. There's nowhere else to go. But that small voice quietly creeps in the back of your mind, knowing what sense of denial envelopes your thoughts.

"I need more," He rumbles into your underwear, breaking your fevered consciousness.

Your heart stammers, unsure of how precisely he can push this any further, but in answer there's the slick heat of his tongue. It's rough and hard and it slips into the creases at the top of your thigh and around the thin cotton of your underwear. Unwittingly, you convulse at the sensation, and give another whimper.

His head rises above your stomach, leering at you, and you force yourself to look back him. God knows how; his face is that of a predator cast in sharp relief.

"You enjoy this." He drawls in realisation, That's what it is." Drool begins to gather on his swollen bottom lip.

You don't respond. You daren't. He breathes deeply again, and then without breaking eye contact, his one bare hand silently slinks behind your underwear. He presses the tips of his calloused fingers to your skin.

You wish you had the strength to suppress the involuntary wave that thunders through you. As it happens, you don't, and you quiver at his touch.

"Oh god," you gasp into the darkness.

His smile spreads slowly, like ink bleeding through water. He speaks softly, while his finger trails, slickening as you moisten.

"Not here. Not anywhere. Just me." He lowers himself back between your thighs. You feel his hand withdraw, and you desperately try to connect enough coherent thoughts together that you might make your limbs scramble away. But it's already too late. His mouth presses against your now sodden underwear.

"My time is short. I get hungry. I don't make a habit of pleasing you people." He growls, mouthing at the cotton, teeth grazing on your flesh, "But this..." He drags deep; the heat of his breath flushing on your skin, "If the fear is seasoning. This is... a hot iron."

And suddenly there's another jarring rip of fabric. Your underwear snags on your hip as he pulls it away - and you're left bare with the air harshly cold against a smear of wet skin.

You've barely a moment to process the destruction of that last little bastion of privacy before he hisses loudly, tongue pressed flat and hard against you. His hands claw into your hipbones, nails digging into the soft dough of your belly, and he pulls - hard and unforgiving - dragging your entire body up with him as he sits upright. You are swept across the floor, lower half of your body held high and firm, his face pressed in betweenpp your thighs.

He breathes hard and slow, staring back with pulsing yellow eyes from over the horizon of your own stomach. You gasp desperately, that numb heat spreading from your fingers to your limbs to your stomach. It builds as he moves, gnawing on you, snarling into you. You want to resist, but the last semblance of self control spins and flees, and you give yourself over to this impossible stranger.

Its a sweet, white hot furor fizzing inside your belly. Wild and forbidden, the fact that hes staring intenently at you as he gnaws and licks and salivates makes it all the more desperate. Fever pitch strikes quickly; the heat at your core boils over; an electric current sparking in your bones. You cry out, thighs tense around him, squeezing, and he bites down hard in response. It hurts, and despite yourself, you whimper - all that heat suddenly leaves cold sweat on your naked skin. The haze clears. You're panting.

The clown closes his eyes and lets go of your hips; you have no choice but to fall limply from his shoulders. He moves his head like a dog sniffing the air, groaning at whatever it is lingering on the air. He spends a few seconds like that, and even licks his lips. You just lie, cold, watching him.

With whatever this thing is now dissipated, his eyes gently open again. They're a cold blue, and they hover on your shattered form beneath him. He's expressionless, but you think he might be secretly weighing something up. You daren't move, or speak, so instead you just observe him wiping his mouth and then staring at the moisture on the back of his hand.

Finally, some internal conclusion reached, he stands. 

"Again. Soon."

There's a final flash of the light in his eyes before he silently moves to leave. Before the darkness swallows him completely, he gives a sweep of one arm - as if bowing from a stage performance - and then he's gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon updated. I'm more than happy to share this delightfully dirty chapter with you. Enjoy.

The television's backlight illuminates your otherwise dark room, casting long shadows past the feet of the furniture. 

You sit on your bed, staring blankly at the screen. It's the news, and the anchor lists off the ever lengthening names of the missing in Derry. 

That last one had caught you off guard.

The photo of him is held onscreen for a few seconds; the latest person to be missing and presumed dead. Your stomach turns as you look back into his frozen eyes - the photo grainy and bad quality - but unmistakably him; an old flame, and one of the few people you had allowed to get close to you. It had never been anything serious, and he wasn't even a particularly nice guy; when his patience with you had finally thinned he had moved across the country and you'd had nothing to do with him since. Still, you hadn't expected the memory of him to resurface in such an uncomfortable way.

You clutch your arms and swallow hard. It's not as if you're even upset about it really - the guy hadn't exactly been understanding about your long-held phobia of physical touch. Considering him for the first time in years, you wonder if he had even contributed to the severeness of your aversion; it had certainly gotten worse since your relationship. But seeing his face again, on the late news as the latest in a long line of the missing and dead, brings a few things home... You were just struggling to come to terms with them.

Your stomach lurches at a very sudden and intense smell of buttered popcorn in the air. The temperature noticeably rises, and immediately adrenaline floods your system.

It isn't the first time now though, and you felt more prepared. Taking a steadying breath, you flick the remote, blacking out the television. You want to move to turn on the light, but don't want to move too suddenly.

"It was you wasn't it." You murmur into the darkness, throat a little dry.

The clown steps out from the shadows with a shake of his neck ruffles, bells jingling. He's grinning, mouth slightly open, buck teeth grazing that swollen bottom lip.

"Such a special girl," He chimes with a purr.

You instinctively shrink yourself away from him, curling your feet toward yourself.

He sways forward a little, slightly crossing his legs as if mickiming a drunk walking. After just a couple of steps he stops, curling his fingers dramatically infront of himself like someone warming up for a performance. 

"Been all around this town," he nods thoughtfully, unblinking eyes not leaving yours, "Been everywhere. I chewed on 'em all. And they all tasted good."

Your muscles tense at his words; eyes flicking to the now dead television screen... Was he really responsible for all those people? It felt like someone new was taken every other day, and each time you passed a new, badly photocopied photo of a missing person plastered around the town, some dark instinct had always immediately brought this stranger to your mind. But there were so many... And he was alone. 

You can't help but wonder why you're still alive when so many are dead, but the clown cuts through your thoughts as he takes another overly dramatized step toward you.

"Doesn't matter what I did to them though," he continues in that impish tone, "Doesn't matter where I touched them, or how I touched them. Doesn't matter if I licked them real good-" at this, he slurps an imaginary lollipop in the air, "-none of 'em taste like you do."

You swallow hard, reminded of the last time he was here. It had been long enough that you've half convinced yourself it had all been some kind of feverish dream - and the consequent nightmares that had followed every night since certainly backed up the idea. But now he was here again, and the reality of it all comes crashing about you. Blood thumps in your ears.

On reaching the foot of the bed, he leans over it, gloved hands fisting in the duvet covers, and simply grins.

"Tasty, tasty fear..." He sighs a little wistfully, giving you a unsettling, sympathetic smile, "They was all scared of me - they always are. All tasted of fear. Mm. The same fear I can smell on you now."

Those crimson lips turn like soured milk, and he snarls, "But ain't none of them smell like you. None of them /want/ me to do it like you do."

With a bolt he scrambles forward with a roar, teeth bared and flashing, arms outstretched to take you. 

You cry out when his vice grip closes on either side of your head; pushed back on the duvet. Your all-consuming phobia of physical touch - a crippling fear that had haunted you for years - once again smashed aside by this stranger. Over the past few weeks since his last visit you'd almost felt yourself begin to rebuild; a frail, invisible protection that you carried around you like a bubble. But it was gone again; bulldozed through by the manic movements of a clown.

He's crouched like a coiled cat now, a pointed foot on either side of your hips, shoulders hunched as he squeezes your cheeks with impossibly long fingers, nose inches from yours. The springs in your mattress pop and whine from the pressure.

"You want it," He growls, sniffing desperately at your jaw and neck like an excited dog, "I know you want it. I smell it. It smells good." 

You feel drool trail on your skin as he moves, and one enormous hand snakes between your bodies. You gasp when he ferociously digs the heel of his palm against the crotch of your jeans,

"No one has ever wanted it before. Mm. Just you. Yes. Just you. So tasty."

Your hips buck involuntarily against him, and that white hot heat suddenly sparks to life inside your belly; you inwardly curse and applaud it simultaneously. The clown senses it immediately - eyes burning yellow.

Some semblance of inner self control grips the reigns for half a second, and it's long enough for you to realise that he hasn't answered your original question.

"It was you who killed him, wasn't it." You whisper again - faces so close you feel your own breath hit his face, "You killed them all."

His gaze snaps to yours - an inch apart -and there is only the sound of him slowly licking his lips, weighing your comment with the expression of a wolf considering an injured sheep.

"He was coming for you," He finally murmurs, pressing his lips to your cheekbone, voice gravelly and rasping, "I felt it on him. He thought you tasted good too - he already knew it."

The clown shakes his head, bells softly tinkling as he mocks you with a /tsk tsk tsk/. Then the sensation of a hot, wet tongue sliding to your ear makes you gasp, and you feel that hand between your thighs suddenly move to slip inside the fly of your jeans, 

"He doesn't get to play with you now. I told him; no one else gets to play with you. You're /my/ tasty girl."

You're barely able to process what he's saying as fingers creep gently beneath your underwear. You feel him stroke at you with a surprisingly delicate touch.

"I want it again." He rasps at your cheek, "Do it again."

You close your eyes and desperately try to keep your breathing steady as a long finger very slowly slides inside you. You can't help yourself; your hips rise to meet him, and the friction against his palm makes you moan.

He laughs in delight, and then slides in another finger. 

"Tasty girl..." He purrs to himself, sniffing the air. 

The fire in your stomach spreads across your skin, and your limbs start to feel numb. A sweetness rises from your core. You curse yourself, but you know you've already started to unravel.

Suddenly his spare thumb hooks inside your jaw, holding your mouth open, and the rough fabric of his glove presses on your tongue. You look at him crouched over you in surprise.

"Do it again," he demands, "I want to hear it. Those... noises you make."

At first you don't know what he's talking about; mind fogged with sensory overload as the fingers inside you continue to flex and slide. In agitated response, he grinds his hand hard, and you can't help but moan.

He smiles, grip tightening on your jaw. You need to swallow, but your tongue is folded beneath his thumb and your mouth feels crowded. Saliva builds until it's soaking his glove and trailing down your chin.

"Such a nice girl," He coos softly, "You must got a lotta friends."

You can't answer, but you see his eyebrows furrow suddenly as if he's angry at his own words; voice harshing into a rasp, "But they can't have you now. No one else gets to have you. My tasty girl. Mine."

With that he intensifies his movements, and you shudder when a thumb carefully razes against the most sensitive part of you. The sprung coil writhes in your stomach until it's fit to snap. You moan loudly, suddenly desperate to give him what he wants, and you can't help but thrust back against his palm, hips rising to find him, tightening yourself around those enormous fingers. 

The fire explodes behind your eyes, heat waving through your body as you climax hard into his hand. Simultaneously you're briefly aware that the clown lowers his head to your shoulder, and the skin there suddenly burns with the sensation of a thousand hot needles. 

He hunches, pointed teeth puncturing your collarbone, and gurgles against the blood already bubbling in the wound. You feel it start to trickle down your hot skin, but the clown holds himself there like a leech, guzzling.

Its only a moment until he gurgles and pulls himself away - you sense somewhat relectuantly - and the cold air on the fresh wound is suddenly like ice. 

You whimper in immediate shock and fear, tears in your eyes, trying to look at your shoulder. It's mangled and dark, glistening scarlet in the limited light. The clown's mouth drips with your blood; ruffles at his neck stained red. He looks up and inhales as if emerging from a deep dive and then licks his lips enthusiastically. 

"Tastes... So... Good..." He pants to himself. 

Your throat is suddenly hoarse and the cold sweat on your brow is already drying. You open your mouth to speak, but the clown has already begun to lift himself off you and just stands beside the bed.

"I... I...." You stutter, unable to find the words, desperately trying to stem the bleeding from your new wound.

You look back to him, aghast and confused.

He simply smiles before backing into the darkest corner of your room, "Tasty, tasty girl."

"Why?!" You somehow find your voice in the madness, "Why are you doing this?!"

The clown has almost disappeared from view, but before he vanishes you see him outstretch an arm toward you, and he wags his finger. 

With a flash of those bright blue eyes in the darkness, he's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon sent me this chapter a while back, but I had trouble transferring it (copy/pasting) for some reason. Finally got it together. Enjoy.

Tonight was just like all the other nights; the same as any number of evenings that had occurred since his last visit. 

Since your shoulder had been mauled by a particularly vicious animal.

Well, that's what you'd told the people who'd asked. 

Now you wore a bandage under your clothes, even though the skin was a much less noticeable collection of puckered scars set in needlepoint rows. The whole thing still felt like an otherworldly dream and something private best kept hidden, so even though it was close to healing, you felt best keeping the area wrapped away.

Sometimes it still throbbed - occasionally matched with a certain chill up your spine and the sensation of curious eyes at the back of your head. It would always be nothing - no matter how quickly you turned to look. No one paying you any attention, no one watching. And yet...

You'd noticed things in the last few weeks. Just little things really, but they were enough that you marked them to think on later.

Sometimes a red balloon; either tied to a post, or lost and floating off through the clouds. Sometimes it was a sound instead; you'd hear laughing when you were certain you were alone - a particular chuckle, like a secret joke at someone's expense. Once you could have sworn you heard bells jingling; the kind you can get at Christmas... But it was the middle of summer. 

You always tried to push these things away, but every time they brought images of that night back - unbidden, but shamefully, not necessarily unwelcome.

You held some kind of self loathing for it, but on being reminded by these strange, possibly imagined tokens, you often found yourself in bed that night, desperately trying to recreate what he did to you. You always slept in your underwear, and it made it all too easy to find your hands inbetween your legs, mind fevered as it recalled his long fingers, the slick wet of his tongue, his visible glee at watching you squirm. 

And, secretly but most powerfully, the fact that it was only you whom he did this to.

And now tonight, a night like any other, in bed, alone and close to sleep, you are suddemly acutely aware of a buttery, sweet tang and prickling heat evident on the air.

Your eyes flash open in an instant, and you pause, nothing but your own breath in the silence and dark. You sniff purposefully this time, and sure enough, that strange scent of salt and sugar hangs. Quietly you stand out of bed, searching for any catch of light stir of shadow. But there's nothing.

A part of you wonders if this an overly tired and addled mind playing tricks - just imagining this smell, the warmth... You inwardly curse for potentially progressing to full on hallucinations. You've found your thoughts going back to him so often, it's not entirely unreasonable to consider the possibility that you're going mad.

As you move to walk around your bed one bare foot accidentally sweeps past something warm and soft. You look down - and all self doubt is broken when you hear a chuckle.

"You found me."

You instinctively go to step away - the sound of his pitched, whimsical voice coming from somewhere near your toes - but an all too familiar hand suddenly darts from underneath the bedframe and grabs your ankle.

Its that same vice-like grip that's had you pinned before, and the force of those steel fingers throws you off balance. You land twisted on the bed just in time to see the clown emerge, unfolding himself as his limbs rearrange, getting taller and taller. You whimper in disbelief as he shakes himself back into shape, grinning at his own trick. 

"I've been waiting for you to find me." He giggles, "Been hiding down there for a few nights now. I couldn't wait any longer." 

You prop yourself into your hands, eyes wide with shock,

"Y-you've been hiding under my bed...?"

He nods slowly, chewing the corner of his swollen bottom lip as he eyes you up and down. He places a hand on each of your ankles, gripping just as hard as a moment ago, and methodically pulls your legs hip-width apart, leaning over the bed so that his own enormous, long body fills the gap.

"Mm hmm. Not always, just sometimes. Thought you'd never find me. What gave it away?"

You swallow hard as you feel his unnatural warmth press against you, "A-a few things." You whisper, suddenly hoarse and finding it difficult to speak, "I-I can smell... Popcorn? Candy? Like, circus smells. And I-"

You don't finish. His smile on hearing your words grows so big the words are caught dead in your throat. 

"The smell...." He repeats slowly, that sing-song voice trailing into a growl, "The smell..."

He's crushing you beneath him, inhaling deep from the skin at your neck, one hand fisting in your hair.

"I smell you too," He murmurs, the hot drip of his drool spattering on your collarbone, 

"I smell you all the time. Even when I'm devouring the others, I'm thinking about this. My tasty girl." 

He jerks his head to look at you - yellow eyes flicking to your bandaged shoulder.

"My souvenir from your last visit," You murmur with surprising confidence.

The clown grins, nodding slowly, and a hand trails toward the wound like a spider climbing a drainpipe. You watch it approaching with rapid breath; the hairs rising on your arm, until he drives his palm suddenly and harshly into the healing flesh with a cackle of delight.

It's like the strike of a jackhammer and you cry out with pain, tears immediately springing in your eyes. 

"I know what makes you taste best," He murmurs as you wince away from him, and he cups your face with the offending palm, your scars still burning under the wrap, "I know what scares you."

His other hand writhes it's way between your legs - you feel him unapologetically pull at your underwear.

"And now, I know what you want. You want this from me." 

He lazily tosses your panties over one shoulder as he talks, 

"And I'll give it to you. It's what makes you taste so good."

Suddenly he stands upright, clawing nails tight on your thighs, and he drags your entire body toward him until you're pressed against his hips.

The throbbing agony in your shoulder is like a thick, dull mist to your senses, and you can do nothing but stare up at him as he grins over you;

"I saw this in your head. Night after night while I was hiding. You lie there, and you think of my hands and my mouth and you copy what I did to you and you make yourself smell delicious."

You swear that for a moment, your heart stops beating from shock. 

/He was there...?! While you were...?! Oh god./ 

Skin flushing with humiliation, the already warm room is suddenly stifling and you desperately try to keep breathing evenly.

The clown clearly registers the expression on your face, and his smile grows; "What would anyone think if they knew? All these little people. Terrified of their own minds."

He leans over you again, and spider-leg fingers close softly around your throat; his thumb pushing against your mouth. Without hesitating, your jaw slackens, and he giggles as your teeth graze against the gloved pad of his thumb.

"I've seen it in your head. Seen all the things you want me to do. And you smell so good when you imagine them. I wonder how you'll taste when it's real..."

He lets out such an animal growl you jump from shock, and suddenly he's on top of you, pressing into you, hard and violent between your legs.

"Close your eyes."

You do as your told without question, and then gasp as you feel half a dozen of his gloved hands on your body. The two that were already there remain - one at your throat, the other on your hip. But now there's nails scraping your waist, fingers digging deep into the flesh of your backside, and two hands curl over your head to fasten your wrists up and out of the way. 

You're entirely prone, caught underneath this bizarre stranger, entirely at his mercy and feeling more vulnerable than you ever have in your life.

"H-how...?" You start, fighting the urge to open your eyes.

"Shh," He coos, and you can hear the smile on his lips.

You swear you didn't hear him remove any clothes, but suddenly he presses himself harder between your legs. Your mind - so distracted by the sensory overload of too many hands smacking and teasing and groping every inch of you is quickly brought into sharp focus at the sensation of him unmistakably slipping inside you.

"Oh god." You whisper into the blackness, hips instinctively bucking into him.

The hands at your restrained wrists shake both of your arms as if he's scolding you for daring to speak out of turn, and you feel hot breath against your cheek when he leans forward. 

You both lie perfectly still for half a beat, thoughts a flurry with trying to keep up with all the fingers and thumbs currently exploring every turn and curve of your flesh. Again your hips twitch involuntarily, and you hear the clown chuckle to himself.

Finally, /mercifully/, he begins to move. Long, hard strokes of his pelvis; almost entirely leaving you before slamming back, pushing you across the bed inches at a time. Whatever mad, shameful fire that this stranger stokes to life inside you begins to roar.

"Whenever I feast on their flesh they plead with me," He snarls, voice splitting and cracking like thunder, "They plead and they beg for me to stop. To let them go. To let them live. But they're scared... Mm. Yes. They're so scared, and they smell so good, so I just have to eat them all up."

He's almost babbling to himself at this point, the pitch of his voice high and fevered. His hips are grinding into yours, long raking claws digging into your thighs. You push back into him desperately, the heat and friction between you both creating frissons of black stars pop behind your eyes.

And then he stops. All of the hands - real or otherwise - either withdraw or vanish entirely.

You cant help but open your eyes to refocus, wondering if he's simply disappeared as he's often want to do. But he's there, stood over you, his two very real palms remaining and resting on your thighs. He's still inside you, just stood stock still, smiling.

"And now..." He leans forward dramatically, eyes sunset orange and burning, "You're going to beg me too."

Suddenly he jerks forward, closing a palm around your throat again - soft enough not to cut your breathing, but tight enough to be uncomfortable. You splutter in shock;

"W-What?"

"Beg me." The clown growls, "Like they all beg for their life. You want me to do this, don't you, tasty girl?"

You nod carefully, all too aware of the burning heat quickly cooling inbetween your legs.

"Then tell me that's what you want."

The ache rising in your core is painful. You urgently try to push yourself back into him but he moves, /tsk tsk tsk/ing as he shakes his head. Those eyes flash red for a second, and he snarls, genuinely angry.

"Beg. Me."

Any last guise you'd held onto regarding self control is shattered by the throbbing burn, and you whimper.

"Please."

His pupils violently dilate, "Please what?"

"Please. Please take me. I'm yours. I'm all yours. I'm no one else's. I belong to you now. Take me. Fuck me. Just, /please/."

The clown inhales long and deep, eyes gently closed, a wicked cat-that-got-the-cream smile. He groans with pleasure at whatever he's breathed in, and then he leans back over you - staring dead in the eye, face only inches apart - and finally, /finally/ he slowly pushes himself fully back inside.

You can't help but throw your head back; the dulling embers immediately stoked back to life. 

"Please..." You whimper desperately as you feel his other hand fisting in your hair, forcing you to look back at him.

He moves almost methodically, but the constant, intense friction begins to spark between your bodies again, and you're so lost in it all you hardly notice your calves crossing themselves behind his back.

"Tasty girl," He growls to himself, taking a moment to lick the side of your cheek with that hard, flat tongue. 

You can feel yourself slipping over the edge of sanity, letting this impossible, alien man take over your body. But right now, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He just has to keep moving.

Foam bubbles at the corners of his mouth as he growls, moving faster, feral claws so deep in your flesh you swear you must be bleeding. He's violent and primal, saliva spattered everywhere, the fist in your hair pushing your head brutally into the bed like lead weight on your temple. You're being pummeled into the duvet, the mattress cracking and popping in distress.

Your inner thighs are burning from being pushed past a natural stretch, but inside the fire is spitting and hissing, pushing you to the edge. You moan loudly and without abandon, a closed door in your mind suddenly slamming wide open and reminding you that he seems to enjoy hearing it. In response the clown grinds hard, hips rolling, and you feel the white hot spark shudder to it's climax.

He senses it too; your entire body suddenly tensing around him. You knew to expect it, but with your mind cast blank with the thrill of an orgasm, that sting of a thousand pin pricks diving into your flesh still makes you cry out with pain.

He's at your inner leg like a suckling animal, inches from where moments ago you were begging him to be. You look down, desperate to wiggle away, but the grip of his jaw is as strong as his fist, and he leeches onto the flank of your thigh with glee. Blood bursts from between your skin and his mouth as he gnaws, soaking into your bed, pooling on the sheets. Suddenly you're queasy and light headed, falling back in a cold sweat.

The clown feeds for just a moment more before rising back to his feet, staring down at you. You manage to look back at the fresh jaw mark - so high and so intimate, feeling pale and clammy. His clothes are stained crimson from chin to stomach with your blood, eyes now a cold blue. He's smiling, and it could be the failing blood pressure, but you could consider the expression almost as affectionate.

"Until next time, tasty girl." He growls, licking that swollen bottom lip, backing away into the shadows.

"Why?" You splutter hoarsely, trying to prop yourself on your elbows but seeing the room spin as soon as you move, "Why not just kill me? Why not just eat me? Like the others?"

The clown stops, his face half cast in shadow, and the pale blue of those eyes is haunting. He considers for a moment, sucking on his bucked teeth.

"You are to be savoured."

And with that, he's gone.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It Comes At Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499084) by [deadwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadwife/pseuds/deadwife)




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